Unnamed No 1
by Hatstand.Ink
Summary: This is the tale of a family, Demetria, Marshall, Leslie, Delerianne and their aventures with an odd amnesiac whom unexpectedly arrives at her house one morning with only a name that appears to be fake, a dark red leaking from his head and an odd journal that may not end with a happily ever after... (Currently on break.)
1. A Garment Of Black Chapter One

Hello my dear readers, and welcome to my first story.  
Few of these characters actually belong to me, other than the Larn family.  
I welcome any input and comments and would love constructive criticism.  
This does contain gore and strong language, you've been warned.  
I promise to attempt to keep this story updated and keep it within reasonable reality,  
(As normal as Sherlock fanfictions can be..)  
Now, I want you to know a few things beforehand.  
One- There will not be and Sherlock on John romance, but you may imagine it if you wish.  
Two- I do not expect to even add much romance, there may be a little here and there, but this is not a slash.  
Three- It may take a few days to a week to post each chapter, as I plan on editing and perfecting each very carefully.  
Let us begin?

* * *

 **A Garment Of Black [Chapter One]**

As the candle flickered, slowly melting away the hot wax and allowing it to drip to the plate steadily, the loud rain and thunder roared dangerously. The rain that beat the window rapidly had been going on for some time, yet the glass held sturdy as the loud droplets hit the window. The crops in the field were completely drowned, looking quite sulky from the storms that had raged for the last few days. No, this crop would not yield much when the harvesting time came, perhaps they should have been collected earlier on in the month. The only sound that interrupted the drops hitting the window was the soft tapping that come from a curious child as she sat before the dimly lit window. The child's hands tapped rhythmically along with the rain as if it was a mere symphony of simple noises. The young girl seemed to be enjoying herself, for why wait for a storm to pass when you can enjoy a bit of clouds? Yes, that was the girl's life saying, it was all that mattered. Be optimistic in any situation was her goal.  
The young child's scarlet hair fell over her shoulders as she sat still, steadily tapping her fingers on her lap and humming. Her vibrant green eyes starred out at the rain with a sort of longing, like she wanted nothing more than to dance in the puddles. She was a small child for her age, for many of the other children nearing their teens were at least half a head above her height. Despite her small appearance, she was proportionate in almost every way, for her weight and height both matched what they would be. She was just smaller, that was all. Her pale skin seemed to glisten as the candle flickered in the darkness. For a pretty face, there deserved a pretty name, and the name was Demetria Aviance Larn.  
Demetria was a kind child, soft in many ways, and had a wonderful sort of glow about her. Perhaps it was the optimism or the gracefulness that radiated from the young child, maybe even just the fact that she was "nice". She never needed anything more to be called, nice was the perfect definition for the child. The only oddity about her face seemed to be the dark rings that circled around her eyes, this was due to the countless times she found herself just starring up at the ceiling during the night. She just found it hard to sleep at night when there were so many other things to do. Young Demetria did not have many friends due to her lack of contact with other children. Her parents farm was in a very rural area, secluded and isolated, the closest city being Westhill, which was a large distance away. She never minded this.. Her brother and her pet were enough to keep her entertained, count in the endless vast fields that surrounded the farm and she would never be bored. It was her lifestyle.  
After a couple minutes as the storms began to slowly die down she smiled meekly to herself and then sighed, standing up from the chair and slowly strolling to the small bed. Demetria plopped down, snuggling up under the covers and pressing her hand on her cheek. She knew she'd have her eyes shut for a little while until she eventually fell into slumber.. Oh look, she was already slowly falling into her dreams.

* * *

As the young girl strolled into the kitchen she took notice of the extra small pill bottle that lay on the fridge, just barely tucked away yet enough for her to notice despite her height. Her eyes instantly flew to her father who stood at the counter, as he cooked the eggs. She hoped he would not accidentally burn them this time.. She blinked a couple times and then glanced at Leslie as she walked to the table. Leslie sat at the table as he flicked through the newspaper, occasionally brushing a couple white strands of hair away from his pinkish-red eyes.  
"Oh come on-That's so dull!" Leslie abruptly shouted while stopping on a page and skimming over it with his swift eyes. Marshall glanced over at Leslie for a mere second, taking notice of Demetria and then continuing the cook breakfast.  
"Good morning, Peanut. What is it this time?" Marshall asked in a monotone voice, the first part directed to her and the rest for her brother. Leslie looked up at his father for a second before mumbling under his breath and turning the paper over, showing Marshall the comics page. Marshall glanced at it for a couple seconds before shaking his head.  
"What in the world happen to the comics from when I was a child? I am a bit ashamed of their recent works." He stated calmly as he grabbed four plates, balancing them carefully and setting them on the table.  
"Thank you, daddy. Uh, when will you be going to work?" Demetria said while looking up, greeting his eyes as he looked through his thick rimmed glasses with his slightly clouded eyes.  
"In about twenty minutes, I have enough time." He stated, following it with, "I'm going to go wake your mother." He abruptly spun on his heels and began walking in a swift pace to the bedroom. Demetria always wondered why she was so short while her father was so tall.. After a couple minutes him and her mother strolled out of the bedroom, Delerianne walking a slow tired pace.  
"It's really nice of you to do this.. Thank you.." Delerianne said in a tired but pleased tone as she lazily kissed his cheek. Marshall merely gave a faint smile before directing her to her chair.  
"Would anyone like salt or pepper for their eggs?" Marshall questioned while grabbing the salt and pepper from the counter, swiftly reaching up and grabbing the pill bottle from the top of the fridge, sliding it into his sleeve. Leslie plainly raised his hand, still reading the news. As Marshall sat down he reached over and put some salt and pepper on Delerianne's eggs, using it as an excuse to slip her the pill bottle, attempting to keep the children from taking notice. Delerianne smiling weakly before using a ponytail to tie her long red hair back. She looked very similar to Demetria.  
"Thank you, honey." She said kindly, then pushing the salt and pepper to Leslie, who dumped an unhealthy amount of salt onto his pile of eggs. Over breakfast, they had the usual chat about the daily chores for Leslie and Demetria, what to have for lunch, that sort of things, all the normal discussions...  
"Oh dear!" Marshall shouted a little as he stood up, pushing his chair back as he brought his pocket-watch from his vest. He reminded her a bit of the white rabbit from _Alice In Wonderland._ Marshall quickly grabbed his plate, dumping the remaining bits of food onto Leslie's plate and grabbing his coat. Delerianne looked up in concern.  
"Work?" She questioned in a voice that had a slight amount of sorrow. He nodded quickly, causing her to stand up and give him a quick kiss.  
"Don't overwork yourself.. Please." She said, starring him right in the eyes, the silence lingering for just a couple seconds before he nodded and quickly spun towards the door, yanking his coat on as he darted from the house.

After breakfast, Delerianne proceeded to do the dishes as Demetria and Leslie pulled their boots, gloves, and coats on before tromping out into the muddy yard. They had a lot of work to do since the rain was supposed to be clear for a couple more hours before it would return. As they trudged to the chicken coop. Leslie opened the door and entered it first, a soft sigh coming from him as he entered. Demetria knew it was not a good sign. As she stepped in she realized what had happened. One of the chickens lay in it's soggy cage. The one cage that Marshall had worried would flood, had indeed not lasted in the rain. Leslie unbolted the cage and Demetria reached in, grabbing the bloated chicken by it's wings, looking at it in disgust and sadness.  
"Poor guy.."  
"Save your sympathy for later, I doubt those new eggs will hatch from all this cold weather." Leslie said calmly as he held the bag open, yet Demetria just starred at the chicken before quickly dropping it, the twitching chicken shaking after hitting the ground. Both Demetria and Leslie just starred as the small creature as it flailed. They both knew that it was near death, it was just too waterlogged..  
"Wh-What do we do?!" Demetria shouted loudly while watching it, Leslie just starring calmly. Leslie slowly bent down, reaching into his coat pocket and removing a small pocketknife.  
"Go check on Daisy and Dexter, I'll finish with the chicken coop.. Then we'll get any of the leftover crops.." Leslie said in a quiet tone as the chicken jerked and twitched. Demetria looked at Leslie and then the chicken before quickly darting out. She understood there was not help for it anyway.. As she darted away from the coop she heard the chicken's odd noises slowly become more wet before ultimately vanishing.

* * *

As she stepped into the large shed she was relieved to hear the loud bark and the dog running towards her. She always wondered why the dog had such a love for the cow.. She smiled and crouched down, patting the dog softly while closing the shed's door behind her. The dog yipped and ran away from her and to the cow, circling around it once before stopping and sitting down right in front of the cow, yipping once more happily.  
"Good boy.." She said as she walked over and patted the dog again, the cow turning slowly and attempting to lick her face with it's large tongue, causing her to dodge the kiss with a chuckle.  
"I hope the rain clears out soon, you look like you need to go back in the field.." She murmured as she watched the large cow named Daisy. The good cow deserved a nice grazing. Dexter yipped again and ran to the shed's door as Leslie walked in, a bag with a bloodied content inside. Leslie laughed at the dog and gave him a good rubbing.  
"Well, I'm glad these two are fine. 'Ya know, Dexter should really be sleeping inside and out of the cold." Leslie said as he rubbed Dexter's ears.  
"I'd love for him to, but he and Daisy won't go anywhere away from each other." Demetria said with a slight giggle. "I'll bet they like each other."  
"Don't be silly, a dog loving a big 'ol cow?" Leslie laughed.  
"Yeah, why not? Besides, you shouldn't call Daisy "big", she's just big boned."  
"Sure, keep telling that fatso that and she might believe it." Leslie said earning a slap to the chest from Demetria. After a few moments they both exited and shut the door behind them, Leslie fiddling with the lock.  
"Ugh, great. Lock is rusted again." He said while rubbing the lock a little, the dark rust coming off onto his fingers. He wiped his hands on his trousers.  
"We don't need to lock it, let's just take a stick and slide it in the handle so it doesn't open in all the wind." Demetria suggested calmly while picking a stick off the ground and handing it to Leslie, who slid the branch over the handle.  
"Guess it'll have to do." He said with a shrug.  
They worked on their chores for a while, discovering many of the crops to be either rotted or completely drowned from the heavy pouring the nights before. In the end, it seemed that only a couple tomatoes, some corn, beans, and a couple peppers from Delerianne's personal garden would have to suffice. Looking back at the small amount of food they gathered, Demetria felt a slight bit of sorrow. Her father had been working so hard to keep this all good, and yet this was all they had left to show. They decided to trail up a little bit to the small apple tree that was on the edge of the crops, near where the forest met the corn. As they raided the barely ripe apple tree they only got a couple fruits from it before walking back to the house.  
Upon entering, they immediately took their boots off to avoid tracking mud inside the house, soon after the gloves coming off too. Delerianne looked up from doing laundry and instructed them to leave the food near the sink and that she would wash it. Demetria glanced up at the clock on the wall that read "Seven thirty-two." They'd forgotten to have lunch.. Delerianne caught Demetria's eye and looked up at the clock as well.  
"Oh dear, I forgot!" She said looking over at Demetria and Leslie. "Are you two hungry at all?"  
"No, not really." Demetria said as Leslie plainly wondered off into the kitchen, coming back out a little bit later with a sandwich.  
"Not anymore." Leslie said calmly while munching on the sandwich. Delerianne smiled faintly before going back to doing the laundry. It began to rain a couple minutes later, soon turning into a great raging storm. Father came home not much longer, visibly exhausted from the long day of work. He was completely soaked to the bone.. Demetria knew he loved his job, but she could also easily guess how hard it was.. A cook for a high-standard restaurant in the mid-day, farmer during the weekends, and a father for the rest of the time.. She sometimes pitied her father, and even through all the times Delerianne had told him to calm down and take a break, he never did. It was just work for him. Just work.  
Leslie waved his hand in front of Demetria's face to snap her out of her stare. She blinked a couple times.  
"Huh?.."  
She looked around and noticed the worried look on her family's faces, her face slowly matching them. Marshall was noticeably more pale as he looked at Demetria. Uh-oh.. She knew something was wrong.  
"Demetria.. We cannot go to the city to get you new clothes like you wanted this weekend.." Marshall said in a low sorrowful tone. Demetria could see a small bit of blood on her father's scalp, along with a missing patch of hair.  
"What happened?..." Leslie said in a worried tone, probably thinking the same thing as Demetria. Marshall sighed and sat down, not seeming to care about the small amount of blood streaming steadily from his head. Delerianne hurriedly wet down a paper towel and began dabbing at Marshall's head as he began to tell the story.  
"At about three.. There was like.. Well, there was both American and British soldiers.. They just started marching down the street together.. It was like a scene from a movie.. A couple soldiers walked into the building and demanded to talk to the owner.. Before I knew it, the whole town was being closed down. Nobody was supposed to leave or enter. I found out from the chatter from a couple people that apparently Elrick, Kingswells, Clinterty, Kirkton, Cairnie, even Blacktop and Contlaw had all been shut down as well. When I tried to contact you, one of the soldiers seized my phone. I decided to take my name tag off and take a run for it. I got a little bit away before one of 'em took a shot at me.. That's how I got that.. I checked.. It's not terrible, it barely grazed my scalp.." He said as he reached up to point at the fresh wound on his head, but his hand being abruptly smacked away by Delerianne. "I heard yelling as I ran, I made sure they weren't following.."  
As Marshall finished the story, everybody was starring right at him with a surprised look. Demetria slowly bit down on her lower lip, Marshall taking notice.  
"Hey.. It's alright.. It's probably temporary.." He said with uncertainty to comfort the child, but she knew that tone of voice. Demetria slowly pressed her head onto her brother out of fear, his hand slowly drawing up to her neck and softly soothing her.  
"Wh-What?.. Why did they close all of the nearby cities?.." Delerianne starred with wide eyes at Marshall, he only looked back for a couple seconds before sighing yet again. She looked at the ground in shock. All was silent for a few minutes as they all just stood there, silently panicking before Marshall took in a deep breath and began to speak.  
"We will continue our routine, the only change is that I will be helping out here now until this blows off. If any men dressed in the uniforms show up at the door, let either me or your mother answer it. If anything happens, let's meet up near the old well in the forest, do you all know where that is?" They all nodded and he continued. "Demetria," He began, causing her to look up sharply.  
"Yes?"  
"I want you to stay with your brother at all times, can you do that?"  
"Yes, daddy." She said with a slight nod as Leslie still comforted her. Marshall gave a trustful glance to Leslie before standing up slowly and walking to the bedroom with the help of Delerianne. The door shut and locked afterwards, voices immediately beginning to speak from the closed door. As soon as they exited, Demetria broke out into tears. She was scared.. Leslie quickly pulled her into a large hug.  
"It's alright.. It's alright.. Shh.. It's OK... We're going to be fine.." He cooed in a soft voice. Demetria sniffed a couple times before slowly reaching up and wiping her tears away.  
"They shot.. They shot at daddy.." She said slowly as if trying to convince herself otherwise, but she had seen the blood.. They had really shot at him.. Leslie calmly brushed his hand over her soft red hair, slowly trailing to her chin and pulling it up slightly to face him. His reddish-pink eyes starred calmly at her.. She always thought his beautiful albino eyes to be so calming and ethereal.  
"Apply sense, he said they started shouting.. Maybe whoever shot him wasn't supposed to.. They might just be scared like you and me.." He said in a kind tone. She hoped he was right. She closed her eyes and slowly smiled while her panic began to cease. She rubbed her head against her brother's chest before turning and walking to her bedroom as the thunder outside clapped.  
"Good night.." She said quietly while closing her door. She could hear her mother's laments..This would be a long night.

A **very** long night..

* * *

The next morning she blinked a couple times after awaking. She could hear a couple birds chirping outside. Had it all just been a dream? She crawled out of bed and looked at her clock. Eleven thirteen.. Had she been allowed to sleep in? She starred at the clock for a couple seconds before her eyes widened. She ran out of the room in her night gown and began shouting her family's name.  
"Leslie?! Mummy?! Daddy?! Hello?!" She shrieked as she darted from the room, hurriedly looking for her family. She heard the bedroom door open and someone ran out of it, quickly grabbing her shoulders causing her to yelp in surprise. She raised her hand quickly before of her face and turned her head, but was only greeted with a familiar voice.  
"Demetria?! What is it?! What is wrong?" Her father said in sort of calm shout. She lowered her hand and looked at him. His head was bandaged where he'd been shot and his eyes looked odd as he squinted. She looked down and then said in a quiet tone, tears almost arising but being abruptly pushed back down.  
"I thought you'd been taken.. S-Sorry.." She said quietly. He nodded a little and looked at her wearily. He had not slept that night. She could see her mother lingering in the doorway while watching them. Another door slammed open and Leslie ran out, a line of swear words streaming from his mouth, only wearing a pair of shorts and carrying a metal baseball bat. Leslie looked up at them, realizing that nobody had broken in and that he had just sentenced himself to a death penalty by mother.  
"Fuck.." Leslie mumbled as Delerianne chuckled and then put him in time-out.  
They had breakfast, a much less tasteful one than last time, this time mostly consisting of cereal and a couple pieces of toast. Demetria smoothed out her long black dress with yellow flower designs. During breakfast, Leslie attempted to lighten the mood with a one-sided conversation.  
"Well.. Uh.. At least it's nice outside.." He'd said while sitting awkwardly, having already finished his cereal and now dully sloshing his spoon around the dark colored milk remaining in the bowl.  
"Yep." Marshall had simply replied while typing on his laptop. Leslie just starred down as the awkward tone lingered, Demetria occasionally glancing up at either of them before looking back to the book she was pretending to read. Delerianne had hurried from the conversation already and excused herself to the bathroom. It wasn't long before they were fastening their light-weight jackets and putting their boots on, stomping out into the still muddy field, this time with an extra helper. Neither Demetria nor Leslie could lie and say that Marshall was not a good farmer. As Leslie had once called it, Marshall was a Marty Sue, the sort of person who is perfect at anything they try. Marshall was fast at harvesting, he could easily decapitate a chicken without a sweat, and he didn't even flinch when they had to put down Mark, Daisy's old mate. Marshall was good at his job, as a chef, as a farmer, and as a father.  
The day dragged on and it began to sprinkle a little. Marshall insisted the continue working despite the rain, they had to harvest now or never. As Demetria picked the corn near the end of the field, next to the the shed, she noticed something. As she slowly wondered away from her brother and her father she drew nearer and nearer to the dark fabric object. She slowly reached down and picked it up, it dripping wet as she did so. She starred at the odd object for a couple seconds before realizing she was holding it upside-down. She flipped it over and tilted her head. Slowly turning and shouting for her father nervously, she kept starring at it.  
"Daddy?... I think someone's been in our fields.." She said loudly, he turned to her and cocked an eyebrow at the article of clothing. He trudged through the field to her and took the large heavy coat from her. He looked at it confusedly. Demetria's eyes slowly trailed to the shed and her eyes widened. The stick was gone.. Someone had gotten in...  
"Someone's in the barn!" She said sharply to him, almost in a quiet yelp. His eyes shot to the barn as Leslie strolled up behind them. Marshall shoved the large trench coat at Leslie before unzipping his coat and removing a small handgun, something of which neither Demetria nor Leslie knew him to ever carry. As Marshall neared the shed he could see a small amount of blood on the steps. He held at ready and slowly walked up the steps. He pressed the pistol to the door and grabbed the handle, pulling on it softly. The door refused to give. He pulled a little harder, it only opening a slight amount. Marshall looked through the crack that he had pulled from the door and narrowed his eyes in confusion. He reached down, picking up the stick and slipping it through the crack in the door. He fiddled with it a little bit, remaining completely silent as he did so. Suddenly there was a soft thud on the other side of the door. Marshall quietly set the stick onto the ground and very carefully, he pulled the door open... There in the corner of the room, sat a very thin man..


	2. The Pirate And The Cowboy Chapter Two

Hello dear readers, I'd like to introduce you to the second chapter.  
I've taken a lot of pleasure in writing my first chapter and have already decided to continue the tale.  
I know that after the first chapter you might be grumbling to yourself,  
"Hey?! Where the Hell is Sherlock and John?! Who are these b*tches?!"  
If that is what you're thinking, I'd be very pleased if you waited.  
I promise you will see your dear Sherlock and Watson soon.  
I do not own any of the characters except for the Larn family and perhaps a couple others.  
I would also like to warn you that Sherlock may be going by a different name for the upcoming few chapters.  
Another warning, please do not comment about why I did not explain how McCallister got out of the well with his injuries.  
I will explain when I feel ready to.

* * *

 **The Pirate And The Cowboy [Chapter 2]**

The rain dumped over his long curls as he darted swiftly through the brush, coat waving behind him as he ran. He knew he was being chased, yet he hoped that the thunder and lightning would mask his running figure as he zoomed through the trees. Every few seconds he could hear someone shout his name, he did not have enough time to focus on whom was calling him, he couldn't be caught by anyone. As he weaved between the thick brush he could feel the tree branches slicing at his cheeks and hands, occasionally a branch hitting him in the face with a hard smack, yet he continued running. He ducked into a small trench next to a tree and quickly pulled his coat over his head and body, hopeful that the dark colors would blend in with the dim night and the leaves that surrounded his thin figure. He sat in silence for a few minutes as he heard the sound of distant people rushing through the woods, searching for the man who had seemingly vanished. _Don't look right.. Don't look right..._ He thought silently as he heard the people running through the dense forestry. As soon as they passed he quickly pulled his coat back on and took of in a dart to the other direction.  
He ran for a long time, uncertain of the exact amount but could easily guess it to be around an hour. The forestry was so dense and vast that it was hard to tell exactly where he was going, all he could tell himself is that he was going. After a while, his pace had slowed into an exhausted stumble. As the night dragged on he was stuck only with his thoughts, something that he did not quite mind. He would find his way back to a main trail, he would confront the terrorists, hand them off to his older brother, _for he never carried very much for where they ever ended up, it was not his job to,_ and then he would return to London. The only fact that bothered him about this case was the luring question that loomed in the back of his mind, _why would there be terrorist activity in Westhill, Scotland?_ He was quite determined to find out, for the detective vainly despised being clueless, he was rarely clueless.  
As the detective trudged through the darkened forest that was only lit by the stars that dimly shone above him, he reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a thin journal that lay inside a small baggy, about the size of his hand, and took it out, abruptly flipping it open. The rain had ceased, yet he still ducked over it slightly to keep the rain from dripping off the branches and smearing the ink. _Why had Mycroft always used such annoying handwriting styles?_ The detective pulled a small light from his coat and shone it onto the paper, skimming over the writing with a dull expression. _Of course he'd be nicknamed his childhood fantasy.._ He thought as he read the name that had been chosen for him, McCallister, the name he often used as a young child while playing pirate. He had been instructed to read the whole thing before even going on the case, yet he honestly didn't care much for chasing sloppy, but quite powerful, people wearing silly masks as they wreak havoc. No, his brother had been quite wrong this time, Sherlock did not expect it to take six months, it seemed more likely to be around four or five.  
As he read through the writing, he noticed that at some points it would switch to a female's handwriting, likely Anthea due to the clear colored nail polish, no other woman under Mycroft's team ever seemed to due something so clear, and yet a woman whom is constantly typing away on a phone is likely to chose something that would not be noticed if it came off onto her phone as she tapped away. _At least she has a less annoying hand at writi-_ His thought was abruptly interrupted as he paused from reading. He stopped and stood silently, listening. A helicopter. Why wouldn't these people just give up? He quickly looked up as the helicopter began to get closer. _They had not seen him yet._ He looked around and noticed a small pile of rubble a bit of a distance away. He broke into a run and slipped the book into the bag, quickly dumping it into his pocket, reaching the mossy well and quickly ducking down next to it, waiting for the helicopter to pass by.  
They were getting close, but they still hadn't seen him. He grumbled a little, knowing fully that he would be tortured by the desperate men, and likely executed after a few days of pain, something that was not quite his cup of tea. If he didn't do something soon, they would certainly spot him. He glanced over his shoulder into the shallow well, about a foot of water lingering at the bottom and a large amount of mud, leaves, and other assorted natural things in a layer at the top. He needed to hide, and that was his best bet. _Oh fucking hell._ He pulled his dark coat over him once more as a slight amount of camouflage from the darkness around him, and after a couple seconds he jumped in, aiming feet first to avoid any serious damage.  
He had miscalculated...  
His leg slipped right as he fell in, catching itself on a wedge in the well, swiftly twisting as he fell, but easily snapping with a loud crack as his body's weight yanked it from the hole, sending him front-first into the well. He gasped as his head hit the side of the well, his chest and knees splashing into the water with a loud noise. He took a couple harsh breaths as he struggled to find even just the slightest amount of air. The impact had easily knocked his breath away. He could feel his head buzzing as he adjusted his position. _Isn't this what happened to that one woman whom fell down the elevator shaft, hitting her head on the side. No, it wasn't, she had not faced the threat of drowning as well._ As he groaned and slowly pulled himself up, he knew fully well that his body was beginning to render unconscious. He took a couple harsh breaths, the darkness slowly restricting his vision till he could no longer think nor see. _Unconscious? Concussion?_ ... _Death?_ He thought silently as his mind slipped away.

* * *

Marshall found himself starring blankly at the unconscious man. Leslie followed close behind, his switchblade held firmly. As soon as Leslie looked into the room he also found himself starring at the strange man as well. After a few moments, Marshall blinked it away as he heard Demetria call him.  
"Daddy? What is in there?" Demetria's voice sounded a bit more childish as she spoke, slowly approaching the shed. Marshall held up a hand to tell her silently not to follow him. She did as told and stood silently, watching with curious eyes. Marshall slowly entered the shed, aiming at the odd stranger's head with a stern look. His eyes looked the man up and down, inspecting him carefully and likely attempting to analyze him. He could see a line of dried blood that ran from under the man's long dark curls, making him wonder how long the man had been here. As Marshall neared the man, he realized how rugged his breath was. Marshall turned to Leslie who lingered in the doorway, watching with wide eyes. Marshall mouthed the words " _Get your mother_ ". Leslie quickly nodded and turned, darting past Demetria and through the fields.  
Marshall bent down, crouching as he carefully brushed the man's dark curls away from the wound to get a look. He was no doctor, but he could easily tell the wound did not look good. His eyes trailed down the man's long sleeve shirt and to his ankle, swallowing at the gruesome sight. The man's ankle was severely swollen and red, bits and pieces of bone sticking from the skin like plants sticking from soil. There was mud all over the wound, signalling that he had been walking with it despite the agony that it would have caused. Marshall could clearly see that wet glistening blood layered over dry crusted blood. This wound was sure to be infected.  
"Daisy!" Demetria shouted, causing Marshall to sharply stand up and turn towards her, making a quick 'shush' movement with his hand in front of his lips as the child ran the cow that stood just outside the shed, grazing on the wet grass lazily. Marshall looked back to the man, still remaining asleep. Maybe he had a concussion? Marshall narrowed his eyes at the man, still listening to the raspy thin breaths that he drew. He exited the shed and picked up the coat that Leslie had set down on the porch of the small building. Marshall began checking the pockets, looking for some sort of explanation of whom this man may be. His hand eventually found themselves to what felt like a bag and a small key chain. He lifted them from the pocket and inspected them, the key chain being a small portable flashlight. He pulled the book from the bag, being reminded slightly of those detective shows and the evidence bags. He flipped the book open and read a couple lines.  
"McCallister?... Sounds Irish.." Marshall mumbled to himself as he read it. The man did not look Irish. As Marshall read it, he narrowed his eyes. He didn't quite understand it. Perhaps it was coded?.. _Unnamed No.1?..._ Marshall wondered silently. As far as Marshall could tell, it was an instruction book, very little help to finding this man's identity. Marshall looked over his shoulder to see Leslie and Delerianne rushing towards them, Delerianne holding a first aid kit and the skirt of her dress up from the soggy ground as she ran.  
"He's in the shed. Leslie, go with your sister to the house."  
" 'Ight," Leslie said as he walked over to Demetria, pulling her away from the cow and towards the house while sighing, completely out of breath.  
As Delerianne entered the shed, Marshall slowly began to raise the gun in case the man awoke, but Delerianne quickly put a gentle hand on the gun, wordlessly telling him to put it away for the same reason he was holding it. She sat down next to the man and gently brushed the man's hair away from the wound as Marshall had done, inspecting the wound calmly and then opening the first aid kit.  
"Do you know his name?" She asked calmly.  
"McCallister, but I doubt it's his true name."  
"It's his name until he tells us otherwise. Come here, I might need your help." She pressed her fingers to the man's wrist, checking his pulse before murmuring, "It's slightly uneven, but it's fairly good for his wounds." She pulled her hand away from his and gentle pressed her hand to the man's left side of his chest. "Collapsed lung," she mumbled quietly while taking a small pair of scissors from the medical kit and cutting McCallister's shirt off, his bruised chest being revealed.  
"Do you think this has anything to do with the town being closed off?" Marshall questioned while carefully dabbing some of the blood away from the man's swollen ankle, the man's body giving a sharp twitch as the cloth touched his leg.  
"Careful!" Delerianne said with a hiss to Marshall. "And maybe it does, or maybe they did this. We won't have a clue. Keep in mind, darling, we can't take him to the hospital. Honestly, you're brilliant, but you're sometimes a forgetful nimrod."  
"I didn't forget." He replied calmly as he continued cleaning some of the blood away from the man's ankle.  
Delerianne mumbled to herself under her breath. She had only dealt with a collapsed lung once, and it was a bloody cow, not a human being. She eased the man away from the wall and sat him flat on the floor. She pressed her ear to the man's mouth, checking if there was any sort of gurgling at all to signal internal bleeding, luckily, not being greeted with any.  
"He's not too bad, probably just unconscious from the wound on his head." She said as she moved to inspecting the dangerous looking scrape on the man's forehead. It looked as if his skull had not cracked, but he would likely need a couple stitches. _Damn you're lucky._ She thought silently.  
"Help me sew this up." She said, Marshall setting the bloodied towel to the side and taking a needle and thread from the medical kit. They quickly sewed McCalliser's forehead before moving to the gruesome mass of blood, torn flesh, and bone that was the man's ankle. Both Marshall and Delerianne realized that he was slowly bleeding out, and had likely been bleeding for a while. Neither of them knew his blood type though. Marshall narrowed his eyes in frustration, looking the man up and down before pausing and looking at the man's neck. Two mosquito bites.. Perhaps the best guess they had.  
"I think he's O type." Marshall said abruptly, causing Delerianne to give him a slight glance.  
"Let's hope he's O+.." She murmured.

* * *

It took a long time for them to be done, by which time McCallister had lost a large amount of blood and Marshall had lost a small portion of his own to give to the man manually. Marshall tiredly stepped out of the shed, leaning against the door with his eyes shut. He didn't even know the man, yet he had keenly given up his own blood for him. As his eyes remained shut, he vividly remembered the scene.  
 _Delerianne began to ready her arm quickly. Marshall interrupted her and told him his own blood type. O-, he had said, willingly giving himself so she wouldn't. She had given him a look, a pitiful look, sorrowful. He couldn't allow her to give up her precious blood, not in her current state._  
"Darling?.." Delerianne's soft voice spoke from inside the shed as her gentle footsteps neared to him. "Are you alright?.." He nodded, opening his eyes and giving her a reassuring look. She gave him a half smile. He could see the worry in her face. "Stay here and take a couple moments to rest. I'm going to go and get Leslie to help carry him in." She said as she began to walk down the couple steps, Marshall's head snapping up quickly, causing a slight bit of dizziness.  
"Are you sure we should do that?.. We don't know him.."  
"Marshall.. If I were him, I'd want someone to do the same for me. We can put him on the couch, we will be fine. If it bothers you so much, bring that illegal weapon to bed with you, just keep it out of my sight." She said, her word being final as she walked away from him. Marshall watched silently as she walked away before glancing back inside the shed. The man still lay on the floor, his head, chest, and ankle all bandaged. His breaths had become less rugged, thankfully, yet Marshall was still uncertain about the man.  
"McCallister.." He mumbled again, the name sounding unnatural to be connected with the man's sharp face. It sounded almost.. Pirate.. Certainly not matching with this strange man. Then again, Marshall had been occasionally teased for his "Cowboy name", as the other children had called it so many years ago. After a couple seconds of being lost in thought, Marshall's memory snapped back to the book. Would it wield any sort of answer to all the questions that swirled inside his head, or would it just be as useless as the first page had been? He glanced to the shelf at which he had set the book upon and strolled to it, pulling the book off and glancing to the man as if he would awake any second and shout at him for looking at his possessions. No, this was not the proper place nor time for reading.  
"Dad? So the man there is gonna be alright?" Marshall's head turned to Leslie who was walking into the shed, looking at the man with interest and being followed by both Delerianne and Demetria.  
"She wanted to follow." Delerianne claimed while noticing Marshall's eyes looking to his daughter. Demetria just starred at the man with wide eyes.  
"He's going to be fine." Marshall claimed as he assured his children. Leslie strolled to the man and got behind him, putting his hands under the man's shoulders, ready to lift him. As Marshall began to walk toward the man's legs to help lift him, Delerianne plainly walked in front of him "You should get some rest when we get inside, Dear." And with that, she began to lift the man up with Leslie's help. They carried McCallister into the house, Marshall calmly holding Demetria's worried hand as they walked. They carefully set him onto the couch and used some spare blankets and a pillow to prop the man up and cover him. Demetria was the one though who had spent the time and common sense to write a note, explaining that he was fine and that they were taking care of him. She claimed that if it were her, she'd be worried about where she was, even if the man had let Dexter out of the shed accidentally.  
"Time for bed, both of you, lock your doors. Alright?" Delerianne had said to the children after Marshall had already left to the bedroom to change out of his now bloodied clothes. The children nodded and slept with locked doors that night. The night was quiet this time, no storms, dark clouds, or lightning to interrupt their sleep. Despite their peaceful sleeping, off in the distance, there were helicopters.


End file.
